The Janus Project
by Seventh Pride
Summary: Everyone knows ONI was up to some sinister things before and during the war. But exactly HOW far did they go?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Halo 1/2 (or 3 if they ever get around to it). Bungie does. And Microsoft, and whoever else has their ragged grasping claws on the franchise. But we love them for it. Eh, I'll take the credit for my characters. 

First fic. R&R!

Janus Series 

**Stage 1.**

October 20, 2554

First Covenant Invasion of Earth

The towering Sangheili Warrior paced nervously. Glancing around he feared his position. His lance was vulnerable. The Unggoy Technicians and Gunners had already set up what defensive emplacements they had (only two Cannons and a half dozen shields! They expect me to hold with that!), but even so, he was worried. His position was surrounded by buildings on three sides. His jackals were all gone, killed or scouting, and without the tower, he couldn't contact them through the buildings. One of the great black strips the humans criss-crossed their cities with ended in a round circle at his position. It was good, easy footing. It would suffice, even when covered in blood. Humans' preferably. He snarled at the Unggoy working on the comm. tower. Without it, he couldn't request reinforcements, or even how the rest of the battle was going. He could hear it, a constant rumbling punctuated with cracks and explosions, but the surrounding buildings muffled it. By the Prophets, he couldn't even smell if there were humans nearby. This whole area reeked of the creatures. He looked to his warriors, three Blooded and a single Unblooded. They nodded in respect to him, but the young one's shakes could not be hidden. His brothers had been killed by humans, the crude projectiles of their weapons punching through their 'suits and spraying him with gore. To his credit, he did kill two. He would get his new armour when they got back to the ship. If they got back.

A sharp crack, and one of his sangheili was thrown sideways, a spray of gore where his head used to be. Three more, the rest fell, gouts of blood and flesh raining on the ground, the equipment and the unggoy. One last crack, and over the blinding pain in his head, he had one last thought, "Cunning creatures…", before everything went dark to a chorus of screams.

There was the signal. The Lieutenant yelled for the attack, such as it was. The little grunt creatures were running around panicking making easy pickings for the marines. He drew a bead on one running towards him, his chunky arms waving, wailing in that annoying high-pitched voice. Three rounds flew out from his rifle. One penetrated through its eye socket, blasting a gaping hole in the back of its skull. The second ripped away part of the respirator, and most of its lower jaw. The third missed the skull completely and instead ripped a hole through the fin on its back, sending a pressurized jet of ice crystals shooting up. The little creature collapsed backwards, rolling to one side, its thick lurid blood oozing out from the gaping wounds. He swung his rifle around, firing upon another, the rounds striking the fin on its back. An explosion blew most of the tank apart, debris clanking off the crates nearby. The grunt was thrown sideways and collapsed, unmoving. He moved his rifle again, looking for a target, but they were all dead. He dropped his rifle down, and breathed out heavily. His first engagement, and he had gotten two kills. It had been easier than he thought it would be. Another marine walking over to him and patted him on the shoulder,

"How you doin', Silvas?", Sergeant Anders asked.

"Okay Sarge, a bit shaky though."

"Yeah, I remember my first time. Almost dropped my damn gun it was so scared. But you had it easy."

"Easy," asked Silvas, his face clearly showing his confusion while eyeing the scene of bloodshed.

"Yeah, easy. My first time, one of those elite bastards was screaming at me. I must've unloaded my whole clip into it before I realised it was already dead. It damn near killed half my squad. The only reason I even killed it was because it had already taken half a squad's gunfire already. Bastards still scare the shit out of me," intoned Anders, shaking his head slowly.

Silvas was about to ask when the grunt he had just shot twitched and tried to get up. He immediately pointed his rifle at it, about the fire a burst into its stocky body, when the sergeant pushed his rifle down. "Its already dead."

The little creature slowly raised itself up, ichor leaking from a dozen wounds on its body. It turned towards them and was about to raise its pistol when it froze. Stumpy hands clawed at the mask on its face, its cries increasing in pitch with its fear. It collapsed again, mewling pitifully, pawing at its mask, still looking at them with…fear? betrayal?. Either way, it died. Eventually. And they just watched.

"They can't breathe our air, son. They suffocate. Now secure the area and get these bodies out of the way," ordered Anders, not looking at him, walking towards the Lieutenant.

Private Antonidas Raphael De Silvas was originally from the world of Harvest. His family had sent him to Earth for schooling, and to keep him out of trouble. As was the case with most frontier worlds it didn't take long for the usual street gangs to appear. His parents knew how easy it was for a boy, especially of their background to get mixed up in that so sent him off to Earth to stay with relatives. While he wasn't all that thrilled about it, since he had just started middle school and had made some friends, but his parents were insistent. His relatives were a lot better off than they were, so he could live better, and he should get the best schooling. So, off to Earth he went with his brother, Racquel.

Harvest was glassed six months later.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Halo and Halo2 is not mine. It is owned by megalithic mono-corporations. With much money. My characters are mine though. So, no touching without permission:). R&R!   
Stage 2 

Project Archives

Administrator Log

Entry 4

_2.17.44_

"The project is proceeding well. The codes are harmonizing well and incubation is proceeding perfectly with acceptable failure rate. Growth is faster than expected, even without accelerants."

"The first batch should be ready within six months."

"I hope the professor knows what he's doing."

"Ahh, crap!" cried Silvas. The cry was followed immediately by a dozen clicks. He looked around sheepishly. The whole squad had readied weapons and dropped into cover. The Lieutenant walked over to him with a frown on his face.

"What was that about?" he asked.

Silvas dropped his head, "Sorry sir, I wasn't expecting the bodies to be so…"

"Cold? Wasn't the ice a giveaway?"

"Sorry sir, it won't happen again sir."

"Be sure that it doesn't. We're still in combat." And with that, Lieutenant Rikov walked away, an odd smile on his face.

Silvas could hear the grumbles of the other marines, and hung his head lower. He had seen the ice, but didn't expect it to be **that** cold. He was missing some skin from his fingers where he had touched the grunts body. He had been trying to not get any of the blood on his hands, so had grabbed it by the fin. His hand immediately burned from the intense cold. He dug into his beltkit for his gloves, mentally smacking himself in the head, "Why didn't I wear these in the first place", before dragging the corpse to the growing pile near one of the flats.

"You heard what I said sergeant, start taking the armour off those elites! I have my orders, and now you have yours," bawled Lieutenant Rikov.

"I understand sir, but if I do that, I'll have to take men off from securing the perimeter," retorted Sergeant Anders.

"We aren't staying here anyways," growled Rikov a hard expression on his face. Anders' expression of confusion caused him to soften though, "We're leaving soon."

"We…are…?"

A quizzical look came over Rikov's face. Then he smiled, "Orders from Command. We're to take some Covenant equipment. A Phantom to be precise."

"What? How? A covie gunship?"

"That's why I'll need the armour"

"You're crazy LT. We're all gonna get killed trying that."

Rikov huffed in amusement, "Trust me sarge. I haven't let you down yet."

Anders walked away, rubbing his temple. The LT was right, he hadn't let them down so far, but some of his plans were…insane. Well, most of them. How he was going to take a Phantom with Elite armour was beyond him. Either way, it was going to be messy. It always was.

The Warmaster growled in satisfaction. The team he had sent to take an outlying area had reported in. A small victory with what was happening now. It had taken some casualties, but mostly lesser races. The commander requested reinforcements to maintain the position. A single Phantom should do it. The rest were engaged in combat trying to hold back such an unexpected threat. The Demon had been sighted and was tearing a corpse-laden trail through his positions. His artillery emplacements were being taken down one by one, even with the Scarab occupying most of the humans' pitiful efforts to defend. This Demon was a worthy adversary. But it was just one warrior, one against thousands. It could not stop the Scarab, or stop the invasion. The Phantom was assigned. It would drop some equipment and extra troops. Kig-Yar animals mostly. The position was not important. It must just be held for security on a lesser front. There was no threat there. The threat was here, and coming closer.

Silvas shifted uncomfortably in the armour. It was heavy, and weighed down his shoulders. The unfamiliar alien weapon didn't help. He didn't even know how to fire it! What help he could be with the Phantom, he didn't know. The Sergeant had called over half the squad and told them to put on the polished, brightly coloured armour, and told them to hunker down at the edges of the cul-de-sac, among the humming purple alien objects. Facing away from the center, oddly enough. Everyone else was hiding in the buildings nearby. The LT was standing near the odd glowing pulsing kite tower. He'd pointed some device at it, then told everyone to get ready. It had been about five minutes when he heard a deep throbbing hum. He turned to see one of the alien gunships come flying over the rooftops. Some of the soldiers cried out, only to be yelled at by the sergeant to "Shut up, and stay down!" The Lt walked over into the open, waving some glowing thing he'd gotten from the bodies. He walked oddly, a sinuous bounding motion. The ship hovered over the road and the Lt ran over and jumped into the rippling purple hole in the ship's underside. Silvas couldn't believe it, the lieutenant was good as dead.

Sergeant Anders cursed. He'd already been skeptical about the plan and its absurdity, but now his commanding officer had just climbed into the Phantom without so much as a grenade primed. He was about to order an attack when the ship bucked suddenly. The engines shut off abruptly and it dived downwards before abruptly leveling out barley a metre above ground. The turrets turned slowly, waving over the clearing. A long pregnant moment passed. The assorted marines held their breath. Then the lieutenant's voice rang out clear over the vox-net, "Ship captured, get the boys onboard. And mind the mess." Anders shook his head in disbelief, "Impossible!" he whispered, before running over.

The inside of the dropship was a morgue. Oddly though, the troop complement was almost entirely of Jackals. They were all down, some still alive, wheezing pitifully, blood bubbling around their jaws. Broken limbs, slashed abdomens spilling pale white entrails and thick purple ooze on the polished floor. The one Elite in the cargo bay had a K-Bar lodged into its mouth, buried to its hilt into its skull. The whole place reeked of alien blood, the harsh bitter smell assailing his senses. He scowled at the scent, trying not to gag, while looking around the cargo bay intently, trying to see how he had done it. No real signs. No human blood, which would be so brilliant in such a drab and dark area. Very few plasma burns either. He would swear that he must have beated them all up in hand to hand, but thirteen Jackals? And an Elite?

The cockpit was a lot cleaner, comparatively. The two pilots (Elites again?) were lying on the ground sprawled in a corner. He couldn't see what was wrong with them, at least, until he realised their heads were backwards. And the blood leaking from their mouths. (How?..) The Lt was sitting in the pilot's chair, spraying sealer over a number of deep punctures on his hand. His unspoken question was rewards with a gruff, "Elite bit me," and an invitation to sit. "You're in the gunner chair, the three screens are for the turrets. The orb under each screen controls direction. I don't know how you fire them though."

"Where exactly are we going with this?" asked Sanders.

"I thought it would be obvious by now," replied Rikov.

"It isn't"

"No?"

"No"

"Ah, well, we're going there," replied Rikov, pointing at an immense purple and silver starship in the near distance.

"Of course we are. Any ideas how we are supposed to survive boarding a Covenant Carrier?" questioned Anders, his voice truly dripping with sarcasm.

"We're not. We're only supposed to kill the commander of the vessel. ONI's orders."

"So you're ONI then?"

"In a manner of speaking"

"Would this help the war effort?"

"Yes, yes it would. More than you could understand," stated Rikov, a sad smile and hooded eyes belying his statement.

"Well," replied Anders, all doubt gone from his voice, "lets get dying then. I've been waiting for a chance to die well." He chuckled brightly, but his eyes held no mirth.

Silvas had just jumped into the queasy fast-moving-elevator-feeling gravity lift and was busy trying not to gag. The smell had been bad before outside, but mostly reeked of sewage. In here, it was more like he had vomited into his nose after an all night drinking binge. An acrid bitter nostril-burning smell. There was gore everywhere. The other marines were busy pushing the spindly broken bodies of the Jackals out of the ship, but there were still trails of bodily fluids oozing into the circular grooves of the floor. Again, that mind dulling purple. Always everything purple. He was beginning to hate that colour. He heard the sergeant talking, "I've been waiting for a chance to die well." Before laughing. Silvas slumped to the ground and started shaking as battle shock took hold.


End file.
